


This promise of mine

by northernstarnavigator



Series: This promise of mine [1]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-06 11:23:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15193718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northernstarnavigator/pseuds/northernstarnavigator
Summary: “King.” Kusanagi’s voice is tight, strained, and Mikoto can’t figure out for the life of him why that is until his second speaks again. “The Blue King’s dying.”Mikoto’s cigarette falls to the ground.





	1. beginning of the end

If Kusanagi and Scepter 4’s second keep this up, Mikoto’s going to set fire to something,

He doesn’t know when Kusanagi decided that he was head over heels (in other words, _completely_ smitten) with the lieutenant, and frankly he doesn’t care, but Kusanagi always looks either visibly shaken or very starry-eyed whenever he gets off the phone with her, and Mikoto doesn’t think his patience will be able to survive yet another conversation about how  _that heartless woman needs to live up to her name_  or yet another rant on the dangers of azuki beans because _King, Seri-chan clearly does not understand that cocktails are not meant to include anko_! 

So when Kusanagi gets a call that’s clearly from Scepter 4, Mikoto doesn’t think much of it. He just grunts at his second and moves away from the bar to sit on the couch and light a cigarette. At least this way, he won’t have to hear the flirtatious tone Kusanagi always pulls up around her, and he closes his eyes as he inhales the carcinogen. 

The couch dips, but he doesn’t have to look to know who it is; there’s only been two people who have ever sat this close to him, and one of them’s dead. “Anna.”

There’s no response at first, only Anna curling her hands around his arm, so he opens his eyes and places an arm around her shoulders and invites her to lean against him. “What is it?”

”Hurting.” 

Anna’s always been cryptic, but she’s apparently decided to advance to a whole new level of mystery today, because that’s the vaguest thing Mikoto’s ever heard. “You?”

She shakes her head, white hair glinting in the sunlight, before she rests it against his arm. “Reisi’s hurting.”

It takes him a while to realize she’s talking about the Blue King; not that it’s entirely his fault for forgetting, because never once in his life did he think to call the man anything other than _Munakata_. Still, while also wondering how Anna knows the Blue King’s given name, Mikoto’s mind drifts to the person in discussion. Come to think of it, he hasn’t felt his aura stirring violently inside him for a while. Ever since the Ashinaka Island incident.

... But that was a month ago. And Munakata’s Damocles was fine the last time he bothered to check, so why is he hurting?

Mikoto takes another puff of his cigarette as he wonders what to say to ease Anna’s concern. “S’gonna be fine. Munakata’s tough.”

It’s the truth; if the Red King had a history of being volatile, the Blue King had one of being stubborn, and Munakata is as stubborn as they come. So why is Anna staring at him like the opposite is true?

He doesn’t have time to ask her, though, because then Kusanagi’s in front of him, phone clutched tightly in his hand, and his jaw is so tense that Mikoto _knows_  something is wrong if it unnerves his second that much. “What’s wrong?”

”King.” Kusanagi’s voice is tight, strained, and Mikoto can’t figure out for the life of him why that is until Kusanagi speaks again. “The Blue King’s dying.”

Mikoto’s cigarette falls to the ground.

 

 

_When Mikoto sees_ him _\- the white haired teenager, the presumed Colorless King, the one who killed Tatara- the first thing he feels is rage, and it only grows when Isana Yashiro opens his eyes to look at him. “Isn’t this the guy you’re looking for?”_

_His eye twitches, and he’s about ready to run the boy through, when suddenly Yashiro’s face contorts, and a strangled voice leaves his throat. “Hey! What’re you doing?! Stop! Stop it! Stop that!”_

_The boy bends over and his body shakes, yet it’s still glowing in a white light. Is he holding two kings inside of him? “Hurry,” Yashiro insists, locking eyes with Mikoto as soon as he can stand back up. “Only a king can kill another king.”_

_Mikoto can sense Munakata’s distress all the way from the other side, and yet he doesn’t care. The fire that’s been churning inside him for blood, for revenge, ever since Tatara’s death explodes inside his gut, and he feels his mouth stretch into a feral grin. “Yeah, I appreciate that.” He summons his flame, one last time, as he bends his arm back. “Thanks for bringing him here.”_

_He can barely hear Munakata screaming his name, screaming_ Don’t do it! _, but all that’s going through his mind is burning vengeance. Finally, he will avenge Tatara. Finally, he will get the closure that’s been denied him ever since Yata brought him the news. Finally, he will make the Colorless King pay._

_And with that thought, he releases the yell that’s been built up inside his throat at the same time that he throws his hand forward to put it through Yashiro’s body._

_The moment he does so, his aura envelops him with a howl. His blood is literally electric with the surge of power rushing through it; never has he felt so much satisfaction, and never has he felt so much pain. He’s never killed a King before this moment, and the realization that he’s not only killed any King- but the one that killed his friend- makes a smile curl his lip as Yashiro’s power explodes in a blur of orange, red, and white._

_Then everything is white, and he throws up a hand to shield his eyes as it becomes ever brighter with every second._

_When the white fades, he’s left standing. Everything hurts- his head, his hands, his heart- and he’s fully aware of the electricity buzzing through his body as he turns to look at the sky. He takes a breath, releases it, and then he’s ready._

_Mikoto knows what this means; despite what people say, he knows the state of his Damocles. He knew killing Tatara’s killer would kill him; Munakata had even told him. When he releases the breath he’s been holding, peace clouds his mind even as he stares at the electrocuting of his sword._

_“Sorry,” he says, because he knows Munakata is listening. “For making you do the dirty work.”_

_He looks at the Blue King, then- Munakata isn’t looking at him. In fact, he’s looking anywhere_ but _him. When Munakata speaks, he sounds angry, but the type of angry that comes right before you cry (Mikoto think it’s ridiculous, because Munakata doesn’t cry). “Don’t give me that rubbish while looking at peace with yourself. If you really feel that way, couldn’t you have done something about it... before this happened?”_

_Mikoto closes his eyes, mainly because he doesn’t know how to feel about seeing Munakata so exhausted, so defeated. But even behind his eyelids, Munakata’s slumped figure burns there, and right then and there Mikoto knows what the other man is trying to say. So he opens his eyes, stares straight at the man, and opens his arms. “You’ve said enough, Munakata.”_

_Mikoto doesn’t feel remorse for anything he’s done, especially avenging his fallen clansman. However, the only remorse he feels in that moment is making Munakata finish the job, because as Munakata finally looks up at him and his expressions falls to despair, it’s so obvious what the Blue King doesn’t want to do._

_He knows Munakata is searching his eyes, searching for any part of him that might tell Munakata that it was a joke, that obviously he’s not supposed to kill the Red King right now because then who would make sure his ego was taken down a notch or two sometimes? He knows Munakata is searching for any reason not to run his blade through him. And it’s because Mikoto knows this that he raises his chin in a challenge, the motion he does if he feels that Munakata isn’t trying hard enough on one of their many clashes in the city._

_Munakata’s eyes dart between him and his Damocles, and Mikoto can practically hear the wheels spinning overtime in the man’s head, solving equations only the other man knows, calculating how long it would take for his sword to fall and how long before he had to make a choice between saving Japan and saving one man._

_Mikoto doesn’t tell Munakata that time’s running out, because they both know it. Mikoto can hear the sound of his Damocles dying, can feel it when his aura vanishes like it’s never been there, can hear the rushing wind surrounding his sword as it cuts through air at an alarming speed. Mikoto watches as it gets closer to him, counting down in his head._

_Then there’s a clatter from his side, and Mikoto tears his gaze away from his sword to watch as Munakata tosses his sword to the side. Alarm spikes in Mikoto’s chest and he yells Munakata’s name because what the hell are you doing, Munakata, you’re supposed to kill me!_

_Munakata looks at him only once, but it’s enough for Mikoto to read the despair on his face, as the other man mouths, I’m sorry, and squeezes his eyes shut._

_By the time Mikoto’s Damocles is five feet from hitting the ground, everything is enveloped in a blue light, and he can only watch in shock as the blue aura surrounds his sword._

_Then something explodes, and the last thing he sees before black is Munakata hitting the ground_. 

 

 

The beeping of the heart monitor is the only sound in the room as Mikoto enters it quietly, leaving the door open as he makes his way over to the figure on the bed.

There’s another figure in a chair beside the bed, and Mikoto is mildly surprised to discover that it’s Fushimi. His former clansman is asleep, head resting on folded arms which happen to be on the side of the hospital bed. A closer look reveals tear stains tracking down the side of his face, and Mikoto finds it hard, but not impossible, to believe that Fushimi Saruhiko has cried for his King.

He doesn’t know if he’s thinking too loud or what, because Fushimi stirs and opens his eyes before he can do much more than stand a few feet from the door. On another day, maybe Fushimi’s sudden transition from sleepy to alert would have intrigued him, but Mikoto’s primary thought right now is that he wants to be alone with Munakata. But his clansman seems reluctant to leave the room, so maybe he can come again later. “I can come later if you don’t want to leave.”

Fushimi looks back and forth between the hospital bed and Mikoto before he reaches a decision and sighs, putting his glasses back on. “No, I’ll be leaving now.”

As Fushimi passes him, Mikoto reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder, and the resulting flinch he gets doesn’t escape his notice. “Your King’s strong. Whatever’s wrong with him, he’ll pull through.”

Scepter 4’s third looks like he disagrees, but he doesn’t say anything in response. He just nods and walks out.

Mikoto watches him go before he slowly walks up to the abandoned chair, sitting down and looking at the occupant of the hospital bed for the first time. 

Munakata’s asleep as well- that’s what the heart monitor indicates- but he’s so pale, he might have been dead for all Mikoto knows. His hair’s spread across the pillow in some kind of comfort that a nurse probably tried to give him, and its darkness contrasts sharply with the rest of him. In the darkened hospital room, Munakata’s hospital gown looks white; for a moment, Mikoto can imagine Munakata as an angel of order, carried out his duties like he’s meant to be instead of lying here. The hands of Scepter 4’s King are folded on his stomach, a gesture of respect while simultaneously holding the covers in place, although they tremble every once in a while likely from the dreams inside his head.

Munakata’s never looked nearly as vulnerable as he does right now, and it bothers Mikoto for a reason he doesn’t understand.

He subconsciously reaches out a hand to touch Munakata’s; it’s not cold, to his relief, but it’s not warm either. Part of him hopes that it’s just because Munakata has always had less than warm hands. 

He notices that when he touched Munakata’s hand, the tremors stilled. He’s a little bit encouraged now, so he goes to cover the Blue King’s entire hand with his own, preferring to believe that the warmth enhanced by his power can warm the other man’s hand a little. 

Mikoto doesn’t know when Munakata wakes up, if he was already awake when he walked in. He does know, though, that as soon as he looks at his face to find violet eyes staring back at him, he finds looking at the Blue King without glasses very, very strange. “Afternoon, Munakata.”

Munakata stares at him for a little longer before he blinks and huffs out a laugh. “I was under the impression that I was going to be free from seeing you ever again.”

”Don’t be a hypocrite, your face has always been annoying and awful to look at.”

The comment makes Munakata snort, and it’s easy for Mikoto to forget the situation in light of their familiar banter. “Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired, especially when it’s to a man in a hospital bed.”

Although he knows Munakata meant it lightly, whatever humor Mikoto’s been enjoying fades away, and he makes it a point to stare at their still entwined hands. “Everything’d be easier if you’d just killed me like you were supposed to.”

Munakata’s grip on his hand tightens, and Mikoto looks up to see the man’s face wrought in vehement denial. “Suoh,” he says (it’s the first time since Ashinaka that he’s said his name, Mikoto thinks), “do you honestly believe that?”

The right answer would be _yes_ , and Mikoto knows it too; but he looks at Munakata now, the expression on his face identical to the one he wore a month ago in Ashinaka, feeling the almost iron grip on his hand, and suddenly Mikoto’s not so sure. 

It’s strange to admit that Munakata cares- he’d wanted to save Mikoto, after all. But tthe Red and Blue Kings have always had a history that ends in tragedy or rivalry one way or another, so Mikoto can’t figure out why Munakata still chooses to play along to destiny’s game. 

“... Nah,” he says, if only because he realizes that it wasn’t a rhetorical question and that Munakata is actually expecting a response. “You like making everything complicated.”

Some of the tension eases out of Munakata’s face, and his grip on Mikoto’s hand loosens as he lays back on the pillow. “You are certainly one to talk; you are the most complicated man I’ve ever met.”

”Don’t compare me to your puzzles, Munakata.”

”I’m doing no such thing.”

They banter back and forth until Munakata falls asleep again, and as Mikoto’s gently untangling his hand from the Blue King’s, he gazes at the heart monitor. It’s steady, for now. He takes one more look at Munakata, mentally reminds himself to get the man new glasses, and leaves, amid questions of why Munakata couldn’t just run his bade through him.

He completely ignores the voice in the back of his mind that tells him in response that Munakata couldn’t live without him.


	2. breaking of the tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes are wide, for some reason, and it’s easy to get lost in them as Mikoto delicately pushes the glasses on the bridge of Munakata’s nose. “See?” he says after a while, because staring into Munakata’s eyes makes his heart tug. “I didn’t break them.”

Saruhiko can’t remember the last time he’s cried himself to sleep, but that’s exactly what he’s doing.

He’d been out on a field mission when he received the call from Awashima, and his heart had dropped to the bottom of the sea as she told him, her voice broken by sobs, that the Captain was in the hospital- dying.

He had promptly rushed here and burst through the door in a near frenzy, hoping to dear God that the King was still alive. Now, Saruhiko knows that he is, and though he’s relieved, he can’t stop the tears from flowing.

He makes sure to keep his crying to a minimum, partly because the Captain is sleeping and partly because he doesn’t want him to wake up seeing him _like this_ \- Saruhiko would only say something he couldn’t take back if the Captain turned a look of sympathy on him.

Saruhiko’s emotions are a mess- he can’t decide whether he’s worried, angry, frustrated, or all of them. The tightness in his chest clenches on repeat, and at last he settles for pulling up a chair by the Blue King’s bedside, wiping his face as he regards the occupant of the hospital bed.

He comes to the conclusion that it isn’t Munakata in the bed; it can’t be, because the person laying there is too pale, too quiet, too defeated to be the vibrant King that he serves. It can’t be, because the person in the bed had somehow sacrificed himself for the Red King, and the Captain he knows does not let his emotions get in the way of anything. It can’t be because... if that person is really Munakata Reisi and if he really is dying, what will become of Scepter 4?

But Saruhiko blinks again, and it’s only the Blue King’s face he sees before him, only the Blue King’s heartbeat he hears from the heart monitor. 

_Captain, if you die now, like this, I’ll never forgive you. Do you understand me?_

_(Part of him scoffs at himself for issuing orders to a sick man, much less his direct superior. The other part of him, though, is desperate; besides, he knows that the Captain is too important a person in his life to not be forgiven.)_

Saruhiko exhales softly, trying his best to ignore how shaky his breath has become, and scoots closer to the bed to fold his arms on it before he rests his head there. The usual biting retorts- the ones where he tells Munakata to focus on his work- stick in his throat, and another tear slips out of his eye as he turns his face into his hands. Sleep takes him much faster than he expects.

When he wakes again, the first thing he sees is the Red King, and fear courses through his veins before he reminds himself that _if Mikoto-san wanted to kill me, he would have done it already_. So he sits up in the chair, rubs his eyes, and tries to pull together his usual mask of indifference in front of the Red King, although it probably looks more tired than nonchalant.

Mikoto either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because all he says is, “I can come later if you don’t want to leave.”

It’s true Saruhiko doesn’t want to leave, and he doubts that the other man doesn’t know it. But, as he looks back and forth between the Red King and his Captain, he knows he can’t stay. Scepter 4’s already in an uproar, and although he’s aware that the Lieutenant is fully capable of handling it, he’s also aware of how important the Captain is to her, and she won’t be able to focus without him there. More importantly, he wants- no, _needs_ \- to see Misaki. 

So he just sighs and puts his glasses back on, giving his Captain one last look. “No, I’ll be leaving now.”

He knows he can’t hide the fact that he’s on edge very well as he makes to pass Mikoto, but he hopes the Red King doesn’t notice. Then the Red King puts a hand on his shoulder, and he can’t help but flinch, expecting familiar red to engulf him at any second. 

It doesn’t, so Saruhiko dares to look up at the Red King, who’s looking at him with a mixture of sympathy and caution. “Your King’s strong,” he says. “Whatever’s wrong with him, he’ll pull through.”

Saruhiko doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or scream because he knows better than anyone that _sometimes being strong just is not enough_. Instead, he just nods and walks away, letting Mikoto’s hand fall behind him. 

He makes it just outside the hospital doors before his legs buckle and send him to the ground. As he waves off the nurses that frantically run to his side, his vision gets increasingly more blurry, and it’s an effort to dial Misaki’s number.

”What the hell do you want, Saruhiko?”

Hearing Misaki’s voice doesn’t make him feel better like he’d expected, but _worse_ , and as he tries to get out a reply, a small sob is what leaves his mouth instead. 

“Oi, Saru?! Saru, are you okay? Tell me what’s going on or I swear-”

Saruhiko is planning to tell him- he can sum the situation up in three words- but he doesn’t want to say them because if he does, that means it’s real. But stupid Misaki is stubborn, and he knows that HOMRA’s vanguard won’t stop asking until he gets an answer. So he says, through the new tears that have begun cascading down his face, “The Captain’s dying, Misaki.” Dammit, his words aren’t even coherent anymore, and his stupid legs won’t work like he wants them to, won’t help him stand up like they’re meant to. “He’s not... I can’t...” Saruhiko angrily dashes the back of his hand across his eyes like that would make him stop crying; it doesn’t. 

“ _Shit_. Where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

”The hospital. Hurry up, Misaki.” It doesn’t sound quite as condescending as he wants it to be, but that’s all he can manage, or else the threads of his composure will really break. He backs against the wall and lets himself sink to the ground, his phone clattering to the ground as he pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face there. _Hurry up, Misaki, please_.

It’s only a few minutes later that Misaki arrives, yet Saruhiko feels as though it’s been hours as green cargo pants come into his vision. “Saru? Oi, I’m here now, ‘kay? I’m gonna take you back to HOMRA, okay? Let’s go.” 

Saruhiko lets himself look up then, and he isn’t sure what Misaki sees in his face to prompt him to grab his shoulders. “Everything’s gonna be okay, Saru. Your King’s gonna make it.”

The ache in his chest only worsens and he more or less flings himself at Misaki, wrapping his arms around the vanguard and pressing his face into Misaki’s shoulder. He knows Misaki is surprised- he’s not one for hugs, after all- but he can’t bring himself to care, especially since the only thing flashing before his eyes is the Blue King’s face. “I don’t want him to die, Misaki. He’s not supposed to die yet.”

Misaki’s arms come around him, and god, Saruhiko’s never felt so safe in his life. Misaki doesn’t say anything, just holds him, and there’s a _100 points_ registering somewhere in the back of Saruhiko’s mind. 

Misaki still doesn’t say anything as the last of Saruhiko’s control dissolves with yet another sob.

 

 

 

Munakata doesn’t seem surprised when Mikoto walks in the next day, and Mikoto isn’t sure how to feel about that. “Back again, I see, Suoh.”

”You’re not complaining,” Mikoto says in answer before he plops down in the same chair as yesterday and rummages through the bag he’s brought with him. It takes him less than a second to find what he’s looking for, and he tosses a black cylinder at Munakata. “Happy birthday.”

Munakata doesn’t catch it, just lets it fall in his lap; Mikoto would have preferred that he caught it, because the thought of Munakata beginning to lose his strength is terrifying. 

If the Blue King is aware of his thoughts, he doesn’t let it show. He just picks up the cylinder and turns it around in his hands while remarking, “I do hope you’re aware that it’s not my actual birthday, Suoh. And what is this?”

Here, Mikoto has a choice- to work on his bedside manner, as Munakata had suggested, or to keep pretending that everything was normal. And because the day he is _nice_  to Munakata is the day the world ends, he goes with the second option. “Open it yourself, and you’ll find out.”

”... How unpleasant,” Munakata mutters, but his fingers are already finding the lid and opening the container. Something slides out, and Mikoto has the pleasure of seeing Munakata’s eyes go wide. “Suoh, you...!”

”... Figured you might need new ones since the pair you had broke when we fought,” is all Mikoto can bring himself to say, because why on earth does Munakata look like he’s about to go into shock? “Also ‘cause you were basically squinting at me yesterday.”

“But... my prescription...?”

”Remembered it from that time you made me look at glasses with you. Thought your prescription hadn’t changed since then.” Mikoto remembers that time well; he had been pretended to be annoyed that day, but it was one of the nicer memories he’d made with Munakata. Using what he remembered from that, he had decided to buy the Blue King glasses that were identical to the one he’d worn before, because Mikoto just knows he’d find it strange to see Munakata wearing anything else. “... You need a nurse or something? You look like you’re about to faint.”

Munakata’s mouth opens and closes, and an expression that looks kind of like gratefulness settles on his face as he turns the new glasses so that the sunlight bounces off of them. “... Thank you, Suoh. I... I don’t know what to say.”

Neither does Mikoto, but he’s not about to tell that to Munakata. “Heh. Speechless for once, huh, Munakata?”

The moment breaks with Munakata’s responding scoff. “It’s the normal reaction to receiving an unexpected gift,” he insists haughtily, with a defiance that would have been hilarious under any other circumstance. “Therefore, the fault for my speechlessness lies with you.”

”Sure, sure.” Mikoto’s been watching Munakata’s arms strain for the past thirty seconds, and only now does he realize what the man is trying to do. “Need help?”

Munakata falters for a second. “... No, thank you.”

”You plannin’ to wait until someone else comes along to help you? Or d’you just want to do it yourself?”

“...” Munakata’s biting his lip now- a nervous gesture Mikoto’s rarely, if ever, seen him do. Mikoto sighs- this man has to make everything so complicated, huh- and runs his hand though his hair. “I’m not gonna break them, Munakata.”

There’s about several more seconds of silence before Munakata takes a breath. “... Alright.”

Mikoto releases a breath he doesn’t know he’s been holding and moves slowly to take the glasses from Munakata’s hand. He’s never needed glasses, but he’s watched Kusanagi put on and take off glasses so many times, he knows to hold it by its bridge when he unfolds it. “Tell me if I’m poking you.”

The Blue King just nods once, and Mikoto takes that as his cue to step closer to the bedside and position his arms until they’re right in front of Munakata’s face. Slowly, he begins to ease the glasses on, and wherever he accidentally brushes Munakata’s face with his fingertips lights a whole different kind of fire in his veins. 

The glasses are on far enough that Mikoto sees Munakata looking at him through them. His eyes are wide, for some reason, and it’s easy to get lost in them as Mikoto delicately pushes the glasses on the bridge of Munakata’s nose. “See?” he says after a while, because staring into Munakata’s eyes makes his heart tug. “I didn’t break them.”

”No, you didn’t,” Munakata agrees, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Mikoto either. 

Maybe it’s out of instinct that makes Mikoto do this, or maybe it’s the thing that’s been sitting in his chest since the moment he did that interview with Munakata, but he doesn’t know which one makes him brush his fingertips against the Blue King’s cheek. 

Munakata’s eyes widen in surprise before they slid shut. Mikoto is so enraptured by the movement of the man’s eyes that he can’t find it in himself to be surprised when Munakata leans into his touch; he just looks at the sunlight shading Munakata’s hair a deep blue-black, at the bits of light falling across Munakata’s light blue hospital gown, and asks the question that’s been on his mind ever since he left the hospital yesterday. “Why didn’t you just kill me... that time?”

Munakata’s eyes open this time, and they’re practically drowning in sadness. “I realized then... that I didn’t want to live in a world without you in it.”

Mikoto doesn’t cry, but he might as well; the ache in his chest whenever he looks at Munakata is practically suffocating him, and he cannot believe that the man go so far just for his sake. “That’s unlike you, Munakata.”

”I know.” Munakata’s smile is bordering on bitter sweetness. “But it was worth it.”

 _It’s not,_ Mikoto wants to say, because in his opinion, it isn’t. Whatever he did back in Ashinaka, Munakata is now paying for it with his own life, and it just isn’t fair. He stares balefully at the Blue King and hopes he gets it. 

They don’t need to talk to understand each other, and that’s how Mikoto knows Munakata understands. He curls his hand a little more securely around Munakata’s cheek and lays his free one on Munakata’s. “... Dumbass.”

Munakata rolls his eyes, but his smile is wobbly. So Mikoto leans forward and lets his forehead rest against Munakata’s, a parody of the way they used to during difficult times together. The ache in his chest throbs a little harder. 


	3. paper skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ”You may pass on this duty to someone else, if you wish. In the end, however, just as Red and Blue are meant to be, he will always need you.”

The universe has apparently decided to keep on surprising Mikoto recently, because the first thing that greets him when he walks in is, again, a very much sleeping Fushimi with his head resting on Yata’s lap.

He’s glad they decided to make up- or whatever’s going on between them at the moment- but at this point, he’s had enough surprises to last him a lifetime, and he’d rather not get anymore. 

Yata looks up just as he arrives, and his face goes through a whole plethora of expressions before it settles on, embarrassment. “T-This isn’t what it looks like, Mikoto-san!” he whisper-yells.

Mikoto just grunts and nods, as if he hadn’t seen Yata running his hand through Fushimi’s hair while smiling at him with the kind of fondness that just seems to come naturally every time he thinks Fushimi isn’t looking, and just sits down a few feet away from Yata. He doubts Yata has any problem with him sitting there, but he remembers the way Fushimi looked at him when Scepter 4’s third woke up two days ago. Not that he has hard feelings against the kid, but he doesn’t want to scare him again either.

He nods at Fushimi. “How is he?”

At least Yata isn’t blushing anymore, he thinks as his vanguard looks down at Fushimi, though in all honesty he’d prefer a blush to the worried look Yata’s sporting right now. “Not great. I just let him stay overnight last night ‘cause he didn’t want to go back to Scepter 4. Not like that!” he adds on hastily, as if Mikoto is assuming Fushimi‘s coming back (he knows he isn’t). “He said everything reminded him too much of the Blue King.” Yata looks up, and his face is the most distraught that Mikoto has ever seen on him. "Mikoto-san, I’ve never seen him cry so much.”

Fushimi shifts his head on Yata’s lap until he’s facing away from the other boy. The poor kid must be exhausted if he’s still asleep like that. Mikoto knows for a fact that Fushimi didn’t sleep much while he was still with HOMRA; if that’s still the case even in Scepter 4, combined with all their missions and the stress of the past couple of days, it’s no wonder Fushimi crashed really hard. 

“Well, after the Blue King gets better, Saru’s also going to feel better.”

”...”

”... The Blue King _is_ gonna get better, right? ... Mikoto-san?”

Mikoto has never lied to the people he cares about, even before he awakened as Red King, because he doesn’t make it a point to break the trust he’s earned. But just this once, he wishes he can lie to Yata.

He doesn’t. 

He can feel the gears turning in Yata’s head as the younger boy tries to understand Mikoto’s silence and interpret what it means. He can pinpoint the moment that he does; he doesn’t have to look at Yata to know that his eyes have widened in shock, that he’s looking down at his former best friend as he’s trying to figure out how to tell him. Mikoto himself is still trying to figure out how to understand it, to come to terms with the fact that Munakata _isn’t_ getting better and that his days are numbering down with every second that passes. It’s terrifying, it’s frustrating, it’s _unfair_. “Does that mean... the Blues... Saruhiko... _shit_.”

Isn’t that the truth. 

Right at that moment, HOMRA’s doors swing open again. It’s Kusanagi, with his arm around the shoulders of a woman Mikoto just knows is Scepter 4’s lieutenant- Awashima, if he remembers correctly, although she looks a little different than he remembers. For one, her hair’s down, and she’s wearing casual attire instead of her uniform. But what Mikoto’s paying attention to, is the way she’s trying very, very hard to hold it together. 

That effort is gone the second she sees Fushimi, and she almost trips over the threshold to get to him. Mikoto watches as she kneels beside Yata, who in turn is looking down at a very much awake Fushimi. 

It takes a while for Fushimi to recognize HOMRA’s living room until he sees Awashima. Confusion hits first, then the despair as Awashima shakes her head to the unspoken question. 

Kusanagi is the first to leave the room, followed by Yata. Mikoto is the last one, and he can’t help glancing behind him before he walks out. Fushimi and Awashima are huddled together on the floor, united by their grief, and in all honesty, he’d probably join them if they weren’t in a different clan. 

They go upstairs, each of them periodically gazing down, and the moment they reach the attic, Kusanagi turns to him. “Mikoto, what’s wrong with the Blue King?”

”Dunno,” Mikoto says. He didn’t spend enough time with Munakata for the man to actually open up about his condition. “Pretty sure he’s not going to say no matter how many times I visit him.”

”But that’s so stupid!” Yata bursts in. “Doesn’t he know the Blues are falling apart over him? Doesn’t he _care_?”

”Yata-chan.” Yata immediately calms at Kusanagi’s voice, although he looks more than a little miffed. “I’m sure he does, but he probably can’t do anything right now. We all know the Blue King; he doesn’t seem like someone to sit back while his clan’s suffering.”

 _He isn’t_ , Mikoto thinks irritably as he lights a cigarette. He’s sure Kusanagi meant well, but the way that sentence was phrased annoys him. Munakata might be... invalid for now, but it’s not like he’s _completely_ helpless.

Well, damn. Now he’s not sure if he’s annoyed at the fact that he doesn’t know what’s wrong with Munakata, or the way Kusanagi spoke about him. He takes a puff and blows out the smoke in a small noise, prompting his clansmen to look at him. He thinks about throwing the cigarette on the ground and crushing it, but even he knows that doing it on a wood floor isn’t a good idea. “Izumo, make sure your girlfriend and Fushimi have somewhere to sleep. I’m going out.”

”Mikoto-san?”

”Why? It’s dark out-”

”I’m gettin’ answers about Munakata,” is all Mikoto says as he grabs his jacket and pulls it over his arms on the way down, resolutely ignoring the twin protests he hears from Yata and Kusanagi coming after him. 

They should know by now, that Mikoto carves his own path; if he wants answers, he’s getting them. 

 

 

 

The Timeless Palace is just as unwelcoming as Mikoto remembers it to be.

His footsteps echo through the hall, and within moments, he’s surrounded by five rabbit-masked guards. All except the middle guard crouches, and the one left standing twists his hands in a series of motions that is probably supposed to look intimidating, but just looks ridiculous. Whatever it is, it irritates Mikoto further.

He’s tired, he’s annoyed, he’s worried, and these damn rabbit people are in his way. All those factors point to only one solution, and the familiar red aura is enveloping Mikoto before he can even think of summoning it. He lets his power surge for a moment- he’s not feeling particularly inclined to bring down the entire place while he’s still in it- if only to test the waters and allow the Gold King’s guards to realize who it is that they are confronting. 

Of course, it doesn’t work- all the guards are now standing with their staffs pointed at him. Well... they asked for it. Mikoto increases the intensity of his power and feels the familiar thrum running under his skin; he’s missed this. “Out. Of. My. Way!”

Just as he’s about to release the force that’s been built up inside his arm, a sixth guard, dressed in the same black robes and wearing the same mask, jumps in front of him and arches an arm. The other five stop immediately, and Mikoto warily extinguishes his flame as the newest guard walks toward him. “Red King Suoh Mikoto, you will find the Gold King through those doors,” he says, gesturing toward double doors that seem to be made of oak. “He’s been expecting you.”

 _Finally_. Ignoring the retreating guards, Mikoto straightens his jacket, walks toward the doors, and rests his hands on them.

They open just as he’s about to push; he’s forgotten that they do that. Then again, the last time he came here, he was invited. 

Upon walking in, he immediately sees the Gold King, who for once is facing the doors instead of away from him. The current most powerful figure in Japan regards him sternly, and suddenly the room washes out to reveal the galaxy. Mikoto’s surrounded by planets and stars, and he can’t tell if it’s beautiful or deadly. “Art thou here to fight, or here to talk?”

“If I was here to fight,” Mikoto says in answer, “I would have burned down half this building already. I came to talk.”

He’s aware that he should feel at least one shred of shame for speaking this way to the Gold King, but tonight he can’t muster up the strength to be polite; how can he, after everything that’s happened?

The Gold King seems to sense it as well, because the galaxy soon fades back into the walls of the Timeless Palace. “What concerns do you bring here?”

”Munakata. The Blue King. What’s wrong with him?”

As soon as those words leave Mikoto’s mouth, he knows it’s bad. The Gold King isn’t looking at him anymore, and his eyes are closed in sorrow. “Munakata Reisi’s days are numbered, for he has managed to achieve what should be impossible.”

People always say to reach for the impossible because it only means that you’ll be reaching towards the stars. But something about the way that the Gold King says it makes Mikoto’s stomach drop to his toes. “What do you mean?”

“Your end was fated to be on the same day that the Colorless King died by your hand. Killing him took the last of your power, as you remember, and your Damocles began to fall. However, Munakata Reisi saw it fit to save you, and so managed to exchange the state of his own sword for yours.”

The Gold King is still speaking to him, but his voice seems to be coming through water. For some reason, someone is breathing really heavily, and Mikoto has half a mind to tell them to shut up, but he can’t because his voice isn’t working. The floor seems to drop away from his feet... that can’t be right, because his feet are still rooted to the ground... so why does he feel like he’s falling? _Calm down, King_ , is whispered into his ear, and he whirls around, looking for the source of the voice because that was _definitely_ Totsuka Tatara. _No!_ he wants to yell because why would Munakata be so _stupid?!_ Why would Munakata “ _your toxic air makes me sick”_ Reisi tear himself apart for a Red King who was _supposed_  to die violently? 

“Munakata, you _fool,_ ” he whispers, and that brings him back to reality. “That’s possible?”

“Weismann never intended it to be. But the Blue King has always been the exception to many things.”

”Damn the Blue King!” Mikoto roars, and his aura engulfs his hand. He’s so angry- at the Gold King who is way too apathetic for this, at Munakata who has literally crossed every single line of insanity, and at himself for not realizing this would happen the moment he had stretch out his arms to welcome his Damocles crushing him. Something’s burning behind his eyes; he wants to think it’s unadulterated wrath as a furious cry tears itself from his throat. _Munakata Reisi,_ **why?**!

Suddenly, there’s golden light breaking through his aura, and the Gold King’s face appears before him, his eyes basically smoldering with the superiority of his own aura. “You are upset,” he booms, his voice appearing louder as it bounces off the walls, “but do not forget where you are.”

Mikoto’s chest tightens as he flares up at the Gold King, ready to snap that _you don’t understand, Munakata is_ dying _because of me, and there’s nothing I can do!_  But the Gold King’s eyes suddenly look much older, and Mikoto catches a glimpse of a dark-haired, brash young officer not unlike himself, as well as someone who reminds him of Yashiro although their faces are different. Maybe the Gold King doesn’t get it, but maybe the man he was before- Daikaku Kokujōji- does. And as much as Mikoto wants to help Munakata, he can’t do that if he’s losing his temper. So he wills himself to calm down before speaking again. “S’there anything I can do?”

The Gold King shakes his head, and the world might have ended, for all Mikoto knew. “The Blue King does not have long left. The only duty that remains- watch over him, keep him comfortable, until the day he passes.”

”No.” Mikoto backs away from him, shaking his head because there is no way that, _that_ is the only thing he can do. “Get someone else, I’m not watching him die.”

”You may pass on this duty to someone else, if you wish. In the end, however, just as Red and Blue are meant to be, he will always need _**you**_.” 

 

 

 

Mikoto’s absolutely livid by the time he gets to the hospital; his blood is pulsing with the power he’s trying so hard to keep down, but it’s getting harder and harder to avoid the urge to destroy public property in place of an actual human being. Whatever nurses and doctors come across him flee the moment they see him, and for once, he’s glad, because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if they tried to block his way.

By the time he reaches _that_ hospital room, he’s practically vibrating. “What. The. Hell. Munakata?”

Munakata’s sitting up in the bed, a book in his hand and glasses on, and although he’s not looking at Mikoto, who exactly does he think he’s fooling here? “I know you can hear me; answer the damn question.”

At last, Munakata looks up, and there’s nothing to be found in his face but defensiveness. “I did what I had to.”

”And what’s that? Exchanging the state of your sword for mine? Damn you!” Mikoto slams his fist against the wall, not caring if there’s a crater left there, because he’ll accidentally hurt Munakata if he doesn’t. “That wasn’t your choice to make!”

”Don’t make it sound as if _you_ were in the state of mind to be making choices!” Munakata isn’t quite yelling, but he’s getting there. “You relinquished that right the moment you killed the Colorless King!”

“So you thought you’d make it for me? And why, ‘cause you didn’t want me to die?” Mikoto can’t help it; he barks a laugh, and earns himself the first flinch he’d ever seen from the man. “You’re a selfish man, Munakata Reisi.”

”So what if I am?” Munakata retorts. “Would you rather be satisfied by the knowledge that your clan would fall to pieces at the moment of your death? Is that it?”

”Don’t bring them into this!” Mikoto growls. “This is entirely on you!”

Because he’s so furious, it takes him a moment to realize that Munakata is staring at something, and an even longer moment to realize that one of his hands has grabbed the collar of Munakata’s hospital gown and that the other is bursting in flame. Two heartbeats pass until he understands that he needs to let go before his anger takes over and he does something he regrets.

He lets go with a “Shit” falling from his lips and sinks to the ground, clenching his hands into fists. He doesn’t look up to see if Munakata’s okay or not.

Several heartbeats pass before either dares to say anything; the first, unsurprisingly, is Munakata. “Suoh?”

Mikoto doesn’t answer; his hands are still charred from the effort of holding back his power, and he honestly doesn’t think he can speak right now without losing his control again. 

“Suoh.” Munakata’s voice is tight now, less steady than Mikoto’s ever heard it. “For me, there was no other option.”

There’s an exhale of a breath that sounds too shaky to be normal. “If I could do it again, I would.”

Mikoto’s steeled himself to look at Munakata now, but he might as well not have. Munakata’s lip is trembling, and that’s all Mikoto can really see, because Munakata’s covering his eyes with hand, and _dammit, Munakata’s crying_. His first instinct is to reach out, touch him, make sure he’s okay and still here; he ignores it. His second instinct is to pass him the tissue box that’s been conveniently sitting on the bedside table; there’s an ache in his chest, and he ignores both of them. His last instinct is to leave- because that way, at least Munakata will be crying in the privacy of hospital room and not where Mikoto can see- but he can’t bring himself to do that because _no one was there for him when he cried_  and he’s not about to walk out when it means that both their hearts will be breaking. 

A strangled gasp suddenly comes from the bedside, and Mikoto whirls around. Where Munakata’s hand had been on his eyes, now it’s on his throat, his mouth is open in a silent cry, his eyes are wide, and that’s all Mikoto needs to know that something is wrong.

He can’t remember moving, but suddenly he’s pressing the _Call_ button, and nurses and doctors are flooding in. Someone takes Mikoto by the elbows and steers him out of the room, and he has to push down the urge to fight his way back in because right now the thing that Munakata needs is medical help and not him. 

The door shuts on his back, and he instantly slides down against it until he’s sitting against the door. If he listens, he can hear a doctor barking orders and a nurse responding to them. He can also hear the sound of the heart monitor going berserk.

 _In the end, however, just as Red and Blue are meant to be, he will always need_ you.

_Don’t you dare die on me, Munakata, not now. Not like this. We’re gonna have words, and then I’m gonna save you, got it? So don’t even think of dying on me right now, Reisi, okay?_

His hands are still charred.


	4. Candles in the wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to save you, Munakata.

“Come _on_ , Mikoto-san!” Misaki practically pleads as he presses uselessly on his watch. “Pick _up_!”

Mikoto’s been gone for a good three hours, maybe even more, and here Misaki is, dialing and redialing his King’s number even though the chances that he’s even going to pick up are practically nonexistent. _I have to try_ , is what Misaki keeps telling himself, and also what he’s told Kusanagi when the latter insisted that _Yata-chan_ , _it’s past midnight and you’re supposed to be asleep_. 

Now he can’t deny the fact that his eyelids are drooping, and that every single yawn he’s had is so big that it feels like his head’s about to split open. 

Giving up, he shuts his watch off and turns to slide under the covers of his futon, peering at the mostly motionless figure in another futon beside him. 

Given their history, Misaki’s not actually sure why he insisted that Saruhiko sleep in his room and even more confused about why Saruhiko didn’t argue. He was kind of expecting, if not a fight, at least an argument; then again, these past few days have probably been really stressful for him and he just doesn’t have the energy.

Misaki makes it a point to ignore the thought that maybe Saruhiko misses who they used to be, like he himself did, that maybe Saruhiko wants it back as much as Misaki himself does. 

“You’re thinking too loud, Misaki, go to sleep already.”

Well, at least that hasn’t changed. Misaki’s too tired to turn a glare on his former best friend, but he makes sure to enfuse with at least a little bit of annoyance at him for _grousing_ at him. “ _You_  sleep, idiot, you’re the one who needs it.”

”I’m aware, so could you at least stop making that face?”

”What face?” Times like these, he’s convinced that Saruhiko’s insane; it’s dark, and there’s no mirror, so why does Saruhiko think he’s making one? “I’m not making a face.”

” _That_ face. The one you wear whenever you think too hard.”

”The hell, Saru? If you can see that well, why do you even have glasses?”

The reply comes in a mutter. “Aesthetic.”

”Wait, really?”

” _No_ , Misaki.” Saruhiko’s sitting up now, rubbing his eyes to focus a very ineffective glare at him. “You just didn’t deny that you were thinking.”

”... Ah.” To be honest, Misaki’s not really paying attention because he’s staring at Saruhiko’s hair. It’s even more messed up now because Saruhiko had been trying to sleep before, and Misaki can think of two things that its current state reminds him of. The first is a bird nest; the second, he’d rather not say. “Your hair’s really messy.”

”... Misaki... are you checking me out?”

”Wha-” And Misaki’s mind chooses this moment to remind him that Saruhiko really is good-looking. “No! Shut the hell up!”

If there was actually any light available, Misaki’s sure that Saruhiko would be smirking- he probably is right now- and he scoffs and looks away. A good thing too, because suddenly his watch lights up with Mikoto’s caller I.D.

Amid soft curses slipping out of his mouth because he hit his knee on the floor, he turns on his watch. “Mikoto-san?”

”Hey, Yata.” Yata breathes a sigh of relief. “Tell Izumo to lock up the bar if he didn’t already, would ya?”

”Sure.” It’s been such a relief to hear the familiar rumble of Mikoto’s voice, that it takes Misaki a moment to realize that it sounds forced. “What happened, Mikoto-san? How’s the Blue King?”

There’s a silence so long that Misaki is afraid to breathe and slightly worried that Mikoto’s offline. He can also feel Saruhiko tensing up at his side, and he looks away from his watch long enough to curl his hand around Saruhiko’s. “Mikoto-san?”

“... He’s not doin’ well,” and Misaki’s blood freezes. “Last time I saw him, all the doctors were panicking. Apparently his lungs started filling up with fluid, or something like that.”

For another several heartbeats, everyone is silent. Saruhiko is squeezing his hand so hand, Misaki’s pretty sure all the circulation’s been cut off. Misaki himself doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to think except _What’s gonna happen to Saru? What’s Kusanagi-san gonna tell the Lieutenant? What’s gonna happen with the Blues... and Mikoto-san?_

Then Mikoto clears his throat. “Is Fushimi with ya?”

Misaki looks at Saruhiko, asking. In the faint light from his watch, Saruhiko’s face is as white as a sheet’s, but he nods. “Yeah, he’s right next to me.”

He feels Saruhiko swallow and take a breath. “Mikoto-san.”

When Mikoto speaks, it’s with a warmth that, no offense, Misaki didn’t think existed for Saruhiko. “Hey, kid. You holding up? S’okay to be honest.”

“... No,” Saruhiko finally admits, his voice a tad shakier than it was a second ago. “Is he...”

”He’s alive, Fushimi, but... I don’t think he has too long.” There’s the sound of Mikoto clearing his throat, like it’s hard for him to say. “Promised him I’d tell you to drop by. He wants to see you.”

Misaki squeezes Saruhiko’s hand in whatever comfort he can offer, if only because the atmosphere suddenly feels too suffocating, too full of despair. “... I see. I’ll do that.”

”He’ll be happy.” Misaki has about a second to hear the bittersweetness in his King’s voice before he’s being spoken to. “Yata, don’t worry about me and go sleep. I’m stayin’ in the hospital for tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

” ‘Kay. Anything else I can do?”

”... Tell Anna I’m okay. She’s worried.”

”Will do. See you tomorrow, Mikoto-san.”

The call ends, and right as it does, Saruhiko lets go of his hand and keels over in the futon, fisting his hands in his hair as a ragged heaves permeate the air. The whole room begins to glow with a blue light that’s as brilliant as it is unstable.

Somewhere between those, Misaki’s pretty sure he hears a _damn you, Captain_ , but he’s too shaken to do much other than what he usually does: he crawls over to join Saruhiko on the futon and gently pries his former best friend’s hands away from his hair. “Saruhiko...”

Saruhiko raises his head and looks at him, his eyes wide and his lip trembling, and Misaki impulsively pulls him into his chest before there’s another breakdown. “Saru, he’s gonna be fine-”

”He’s  _not,_ Misaki!” Saruhiko’s hands fist into the front of his shirt as words tumble out of the taller boy’s mouth at an alarming rate. “You heard Mikoto-san, the Captain is _dying_ , and the damn doctors can’t do _anything a_ bout it... damn you, Captain.”

Misaki’s own eyes are brimming with tears, but he pulls Saruhiko closer to him and presses his lips to his head as they spill down his cheeks. “I’m really sorry, Saru.”

Saruhiko doesn’t answer, because he’s shaking in Misaki’s arms.

 

 

 

The next time Mikoto pulls himself together to walk back into the hospital room, there’s a breathing tube in Munakata’s nose. 

It’s been three days since their argument, since Munakata almost killed himself prematurely from the combination of his emotions and his already weakened body. That’s been a long time for Mikoto, but it’s been long enough for him to think.

So he resolutely tries to ignore the breathing tube- it’s really hard- and places the bouquet of flowers he bought on the bedside table. “Bought these for you.”

Munakata doesn’t respond. That’s either because of the breathing tube or because he actually can’t anymore, and Mikoto prays that it’s not the second one. “S’rude not to thank someone after they’ve gotten you something, Munakata. Shouldn’t you know that?”

”You didn’t need to,” Munakata finally says, his hands twitching. Guilt? Nerves? Does he want to hold the flowers? ”Though I’m flattered you did anyway.”

”Aim to please, after all.” Mikoto sits down on the chair that’s already by the bedside, and he thinks a moment before offering his hand out.

Munakata stares at his hand like he’s considering. When he nods, Mikoto curls his hand around Munakata’s, and he’s sure the other man would have squeezed lightly if he still had the energy to do so. “Talked with Fushimi two nights ago.”

Munakata’s eyes widen slightly at the mention of his third. “Did you? How is he?”

”Not taking it well,” Mikoto watches as Munakata’s eyes dim, and he brushes his thumb over the back of the man’s hand consolingly, “but he’s hanging on for you.”

Munakata settles back on his pillow, sighing deeply. “Did he say anything else?”

”He’s planning to drop by. Kind of surprised he only did once.” At the Blue King’s confused look, he elaborates. “When you were sleeping.”

”Ah. Well, that’s Fushimi-kun, I suppose. He deals with grief differently.”

Mikoto just grunts; he’s not going to disagree with that. He continues to draw circles on the back of Munakata’s hand with the pad of his thumb, and they fall silent. 

For several minutes, the only sounds in the room are Munakata’s labored breathing and the beeping of the heart monitor. The only movements in the room are that of Mikoto’s hand and the rising and falling of Munakata’s chest as he tries to pull enough oxygen into his lungs. 

Eventually, Munakata’s hand twitches in Mikoto’s grip. “Suoh.”

”You don’t have to say anything, Munakata.”

”I do,” Munakata insists, and he’s trying to push himself up before he remembers that he doesn’t have the strength for it anymore. He settles back on the pillow with frustration creasing his brow, and it gnaws enough at Mikoto’s gut that he moves to ease Munakata into a sitting position. 

Once he’s sure Munakata’s back is settled back comfortably against the pillow, he sits back down and takes Munakata’s hand again. “What is it?”

”I...” Munakata inhales through the tube. “I meant what I said, before... that.”

_For me, there was no other option._

_If I could do it again, I would._

Mikoto knows he does, but it doesn’t hurt any less. “You gotta stop doing this to yourself. I get you care... but everyone’d agree this is too far.”

Munakata doesn’t deny it, but he looks slightly relieved that Mikoto’s not losing his temper. It must have made him feel braver or something, because his fingers press down on Mikoto’s in an imitation of a squeeze. “Promise me something, Suoh.”

Something about that makes Mikoto believe that it’s a condition he won’t be liking, but... this is Munakata. The man’s never asked for anything in his life. So amid the warning bells going off in his head, he nods. “Sure.”

Despite the tube in his nose and the medication that’s likely swimming through his veins, Munakata’s eyes are the clearest they’ve ever been. ”Promise me that you won’t try to save me.”

Mikoto’s power surges against its limits, and he has to swallow and clench his free fist to keep it under control. “That’s... That’s...”

”I’m sure you’ve heard it from the Gold King himself: there is no possible way to reverse this. If there is, it will only contribute  to the damage I’ve already caused in switching the states of our swords. The only thing I ask for now is a death with no regrets.” In a rare show of strength that must be costing every fiber of his being, Munakata not only squeezes Mikoto’s hand, but also pulls him forward until their faces are only mere inches apart. “Promise me, Suoh. _Please_.”

_I can’t._

_I thought I told you not to die on me._

_I forgive you._

_Anything. Anything but this_.

”... Yeah,” he finally says, and Munakata seems to sag in relief. “I promise.”

Munakata sighs, and his breath fans over Mikoto’s face. “Thank you.”

And because it’s probably the beginning of the last time Mikoto will be able to do this, he does what he should have when Munakata was still healthy: he leans in and touches his lips to Munakata’s lightly. As he does so, the edges of despair claw at his chest as Munakata carefully returns his kiss. 

 _I wanted to save you, Munakata_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flowers he gets Munakata are purple hyacinths. They mean, apology.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, some of you might I have noticed I changed the chapter count to 7. I just have so much I want to say in this story.


	5. this image I see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a hint of the old smirk in Munakata’s voice, so Mikoto turns back to him, leans over... and flicks him on the forehead. “Gotta be a smartass even when you’re sick, huh? You’re a special kind of crazy, Munakata.”
> 
> Munakata’s apparently not even fazed by the flick, since his lip is curling up in a smile. “As opposed to your stating the obvious.”
> 
> ”If you’da let me finish, I was gonna ask if you were gonna let me do something.”

Kuroh has no idea why his feet have led him here. He makes to walk backwards, because this is the last place he wants to be right now, but his feet stay rooted to the ground for some reason. He stares at the hospital doors, torn between confusion and wariness, because he knows exactly who is in their care.

He’s heard about the Blue King’s situation. He suspects that he’s one of the few people who knows what _actually_  happened that day on Ashinaka. It doesn’t take a genius to guess that Scepter 4 is breaking down with the deteriorating state of their leader. 

He met one of the Scepter 4 operatives just a couple days ago- Zenjō Gōki, if he remembers correctly. If the man knew who he was, he hadn’t said anything; he just continued staring at the sky as Kuroh had shifted on his feet, wondering whether he should leave or stay a moment to offer some comfort.

 

_“You are the Black Dog,” Zenjō says just as Kuroh turns to leave. “The former vassal of the previous Colorless King Ichigen Miwa.”_

_Kuroh stiffens; it’s no surprise that people know his master, but to know that Kuroh had served under him... that was completely different. “May I ask for a name?”_

_The man shrugs and turns to face him; it’s only then that Kuroh sees the scar running across his face. “Zenjō Gōki. Apologies if I’ve startled you.”_

_Kuroh’s still a little on edge, but he bows in response. “Yatogami Kuroh. And with all due respect, you are mistaken, Zenjō-san. It isn’t so much that you startled me than that you knew of my serving under Master Ichigen.”_

_”Live long enough, you hear a lot of things,” is all Zenjō says in response. He gestures to the spot beside him, and Kuroh considers refusing. After all, he doesn’t know the man, and he needs to be looking for Shiro. But then, he reasons, Shiro would want to speak with this man, to see if he could help in whatever way he could. So he sits down at a respectful distance. “What brings Zenjō-san so far from Scepter 4?”_

_”Need to walk around every once in a while. It’s gotten harder to stay inside.”_

_”Well... forgive me for speaking on matters I know nothing of, but the headquarters of Scepter 4 don’t seem too awful of a place to stay.”_

_“It’s not much of a place without our leader,” Zenjō replies._

_Kuroh freezes- not because his last encounter with the Blue King is replaying in his mind, but because the Blue King had seemed so indestructible, so untouchable. Who or what was so powerful as to drive him from his duties?_

_“He has made regular trips to the Scepter 4 Medical wing in the past month, and he was convinced he was only getting a cold. But then, one day he collapsed while he was out securing a runaway Strain, and this is where he’s been ever since.” Zenjō stares at the pavement, and in the sunlight, Kuroh can see his face etched with concern. “I fear he will not last the month.”_

_The Blue King’s face is flashing before Kuroh’s eyes, and he can’t reconcile his memory of the man with Zenjō’s. But if there is a chance that it is true, what will become of Scepter 4? It often takes months, or even years, for a new King to awaken; in that time, those who might have feared the Blue King before might make their moves. Kuroh’s already heard rumors of JUNGLE stirring; once the Blue King dies, will they move? It’s a moment that will upset the balance of order and chaos in Shizume City, and Kuroh find some himself missing his own King more than ever._

_“My deepest condolences, Zenjō-san,” Kuroh says, because that is the only thing he_ can _say. “I know how it feels to lose a King you care about.”_

_Zenjō meets his gaze, and the corners of his eyes crinkle in the closest to mirth he could probably muster up at the moment. “Ichigen taught you well, Yatogami-kun.”_

Zenjō’s story reverberates in Kuroh’s mind as he struggles between leaving now or going in. _I can’t go in, I have to... I have to find Shiro_.

 _Visit him first_.

 _Shiro?!_  Kuroh’s heart clenches at the familiar voice and he whirls around, scanning the surrounding street and trees for white hair and a cheeky grin. “... Shiro?”

His King is nowhere to be seen. His King is not here, and yet his words stick in Kuroh’s mind like he’s right next to him and whispering into his ear. _Visit him first_.

Kuroh tries to resist, he really does, but he can feel his resolve crumbling already. “Such an irresponsible King,” he grumbles, “even when you’re not here.”

He goes into the hospital anyway.

 

 

The moment Kuroh sees the Blue King, what runs through his veins is not anger for trying to kill Shiro, nor wariness from the memories of their last encounter, but sorrow for the piteous state of a great leader. 

Simply put, he looks awful. There are rings under his eyes, and his chest is barely moving even as it pulls oxygen from the breathing tube in his nose. His eyes are closed, as they should be in sleep, but they’re clenched shut, and tremors run his hands every so often as his head turns from side to side in an effort to escape the nightmares inside his head. 

Kuroh shuts the door behind him, his breath coming in soft puffs as he watches the Blue King with worry knocking at the inside of his chest. 

The Blue King’s shaking even more now, and although Kuroh can hear him murmuring something, he can’t figure out what. If he leans in enough, he can hear things like _Don’t do it!_ and _Stop it!_  He’s bewildered, but he’s more worried at the moment, so he shakes the Blue King’s shoulder. “Blue King.”

The Blue King doesn’t respond, but he’s starting to thrash now, and that sends panic spiking in Kuroh’s heart because he’s going to hurt himself, or tangle the breathing tube, or rip the IV out of his arm. So, as the beeping of the heart monitor picks up in speed, Kuroh shakes him again, harder. “Wake up! You’re dreaming! _Wake up_!”

The Blue King’s eyes fly open and he jolts himself into a sitting position with a “ _Suoh!”_  falling from his lips. At first, he doesn’t seem to notice Kuroh’s hand still outstretched from where it had been shaking him, nor Kuroh himself standing at his bedside. Then their gazes lock, and as the Blue King’s eyes widen upon seeing him, Master Ichigen’s training flashes across Kuroh’s mind, and he suddenly feels compelled to apply it here. 

“You are the Fourth Blue King Munakata Reisi,” Kuroh begins, slightly unsteady. “You are the leader of Scepter 4. You are in the hospit-”

”Yatogami Kuroh-kun.” Kuroh’s not sure who’s more surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I...” _That’s a good question_. “I heard about... your situation, and thought Shiro would want me to visit you.”

The Blue King stares at him for another two seconds before he relaxes and falls back on his pillow, pain twisting his features for a moment. “I see. Thank you both, then, for your timely concern.”

Kuroh doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just sits down on a chair- mostly because the atmosphere’s become awkward since neither he nor Blue King are speaking. He finds himself rubbing the hilt of his blade- a nervous tick that Shiro sometimes teases him for. “... How long?” 

Now he’s aware that this is a horrible question to ask, but he has no idea what he should do in this situation, because a) he’s never done this before, b) he’s talking to a King, and c) he’s talking to the Blue King. He thinks he can hear Shiro making fun of him from wherever he is, and he chides his King internally, as the Blue King thinks about how to answer his question. “If the doctors are to be believed, then I have about... two weeks. Give or take.”

Kuroh’s breath catches in his throat. “My condolences.”

“Thank you, but I’ve made my peace with it. There is no need to feel sorry for me.” The Blue King regards him curiously, and it’s kind of unfair how he can still command Kuroh’s attention so firmly even though he’s the one in a hospital bed. “Has the Silver King made his return yet?”

”... No.” It’s hard to admit, mostly because Kuroh doesn’t want to admit it’s true. “I suppose he needs time to recuperate after Ashinaka, though how much is hard to say.”

The Blue King just nods, his eyes glazed over the way eyes do when you relive a difficult moment. Kuroh can’t help but wonder if it has anything to do with the Red King, since that was the last person the Blue King had seen there. 

“Kuroh-kun, forgive me, but I’m afraid I won’t be much of a conversationalist at the moment. I’m quite tired.”

”The fault is mine, Blue King, for intruding on your rest.” Kuroh gets up to leave, but something tugs at his hand. He turns around, and it’s the Blue King. “I know your priorities lie with the Silver Clan and your King,” he says, controlled despite the desperation Kuroh can see very clearly in his eyes, “but whomever my successor may be, I ask you to aid them if they need it. Handling Scepter 4 is... a responsibility that can be trying at times.”

Kuroh stares at the Blue King, half of his mind trying to process what he’s just said and the other half trying to figure out how to respond. _Think. What would Shiro do if he was here? What would he say?_  “Of course. It is our responsibility to aid other clans in need.”

He’s not sure if that’s the right thing to say, but the Blue King relaxes nevertheless. “Thank you for your help, Kuroh-kun.”

Kuroh can only nod as he rises; there’s a lump in his throat even though this is not his King. He makes for the door, but it swings open before he can reach it and reveals the Red King. 

His eyes widen in surprise, but Kuroh’s not bothered by it. He only inclines his head in greeting and darts out of the room, making it past the doors of the hospital before he has to stop because the ache in his chest is too much. _Shiro, where are you?_

 

 

Mikoto loses track of how much time he spends staring at the door before he looks at Munakata. “Was that the Black Dog?”

Munakata nods, his movements slightly restrained by the length of the breathing tube. “He came by to pay his respects.”

”Popular guy, huh,” Mikoto teases lightly as he sits down, taking Munakata’s hand and pressing his lips to it briefly. Most of their visits were like this, now, involving some kind of touching; Mikoto doesn’t know when it started, but he’s not complaining. “You feeling okay?”

Munakata hums, as he turns his eyes towards the ceiling. “As much I can be, in my condition.”

 _It’s a yes or no question, Munakata,_ Mikoto thinks, but he doesn’t press it. He just grunts in acknowledgement and looks out the window. His eyebrows go up. “Nighttime already?”

”Yes, which usually comes after day, Suoh.”

There’s a hint of the old smirk in Munakata’s voice, so Mikoto turns back to him, leans over... and flicks him on the forehead. “Gotta be a smartass even when you’re sick, huh? You’re a special kind of crazy, Munakata.”

Munakata’s apparently not even fazed by the flick, since his lip is curling up in a smile. “As opposed to your stating the obvious.”

”If you’da let me finish, I was gonna ask if you were gonna let me do something.”

Munakata chuckles, but Mikoto can see he’s nervous. “That would depend on the nature of your request. As long as it’s... not extreme, I suppose I’ll play along.”

”Oh good.” Mikoto leans over and slides an arm across Munakata’s back and another under his knees to lift him up. He’s way lighter than what’s healthy, is what’s going through Mikoto’s mind as Munakata honest-to-God yelps and somehow manages to link his arms around Mikoto’s neck for balance. “Suoh, what in the name of sanity do you think you’re doing?”

”Carrying you.”

”Yes, I _understand,_ but why-”

”Do you still like the stars?” Munakata stills almost instantly, his eyes going from shock to nostalgic, and Mikoto almost feels bad for bringing it up. Almost. “Let’s go out and see them then.”

”My tube and IV-”

”We’ll bring those. We’re just going outside, anyway.” 

Munakata sighs, but he nods, and that’s what’s important. Mikoto shifts Munakata onto one arm, angling him carefully so that Munakata’s head is resting against his shoulder, and takes the portable oxygen tank and the IV stand in his free hand. The Blue King’s breath hits his neck in soft puffs, and he’d be lying if he says he’s not worried by how warm those breaths are. “You okay?”

Munakata nods against his shoulder and closes his eyes. Quelling the immediate panic that spikes in his chest, Mikoto nudges the door open with his foot and walks out, making sure the IV stand and oxygen tank don’t get stuck in the door. _There’s plenty of other opportunities to do this_ , he argues with himself, _it doesn’t have to be tonight_. 

 _Yeah, it does_ , a smaller part of him says. _It does_.

 

There’s a field a few feet away from the hospital, and it’s there that Mikoto walks to after they get outside. He doesn’t know at what point Munakata’s head started resting against his neck instead of his shoulder, but he looks comfortable, and that’s all that Mikoto cares about. 

He sets the IV stand and oxygen tank down so that they’re not falling over, and brings his now free arm to support the one holding Munakata. “Munakata,” he says, shrugging his shoulder a little to wake the man up. “We’re here.”

In all the years of his life, Mikoto never thought he’d be doing this- with Munakata, of all people- but it’s more than worth it to see Munakata open his eyes, widen them, and hear a gasp slipping past the man’s mouth.

 _And that’s why it has to be today_ , Mikoto’s mind snarks back at him, and for once he agrees. It’s a cloudless night, which means that it’s easier to fall in awe of the scattered stars that dot the sky white, gold, and ice blue. Which means it’s easier to pretend that the fireflies in the field swirling around them are wayward stars. Which means it’s easier to see Munakata’s face light up as he loses himself in the beauty surrounding him.  

“Suoh... you’re insufferable.”

Mikoto chuckles, and adjusts his grip so that Munakata’s face is level with his own. “Why? ‘Cause I surprised you?”

Munakata huffs; that’s another thing Mikoto never thought he’d see. “Are you _pouting_  now, Munakata?”

”I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Munakata retorts. In the faint light that the fireflies provide, his cheeks are coloring, and it’s honestly the cutest thing Mikoto’s ever seen him do. But because he understands that Munakata has dignity to maintain, he plants a kiss on the man’s cheek to appease him. “Just make things easier for both of us and admit you like it.”

Munakata scoffs, but his eyes are bright, and he can’t quite stop the smile that keeps tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leans in to press his lips against Mikoto’s, and while Mikoto can’t say that he’s surprised, he’s not completely prepared for it either. 

It’s longer than any kiss they’ve had thus far- not that Mikoto’s been counting- and that’s why he knows it’s his favorite thus far, as Munakata pulls away. In the fireflies’ glow, the Blue King’s eyes are bright, his elation lighting him from the inside out, and Mikoto can’t help but think that the stars and fireflies are nothing compared to Munakata. “Is that enough of an admission for you?”

Mikoto just chuckles before he raises one hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Munakata’s ear. “Maybe.”

Munakata splutters, either from his action or his response, and that’s immediately followed by a “Well, perhaps you should mention the requirements of a so-called admission _before_  I do something like that, Suoh, you are the most _frustrating_ man I’ve ever met...”

God, Mikoto loves this man.


	6. swan song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And as he walks out, the first tear slides down his face, and he lets his King go

It’s the next day, and Saruhiko raises his hand for the third time in a row to knock at the door, but his confidence wanes before he can even touch it. He grits his teeth and commands himself to do it again, to actually get the knocking part over with and step in like he should have five minutes ago.

It’s been a week since he promised Mikoto to visit the Blue King. It’s been a week since he was able to get any decent sleep because every second of his life is now consumed with worry for the Blue King. It’s been a week since he sat down with the Lieutenant in the safety of HOMRA’s living room and discussed what would happen next after... after the inevitable.

 _Would you remain with Scepter 4_ , he had asked her, a question inspired by both curiosity and desperation,  _after the next Blue King awakens?_

Awashima hadn’t looked like she had considered it, or even wanted to; Saruhiko could understand the sentiment. _When I first decided to follow the Captain, I swore a pledge to Scepter 4, in my own way. As such, I do not intend to leave until extraneous circumstances force me to._

She had paused for a moment, eyes slightly up focusing as she lost herself in her own thoughts. _Besides, I don’t believe the Captain would want us to abandon our duties just because he is no longer there to oversee them_. _It is our responsibility to guide the next Blue King as much as it is to follow his lead_. 

Saruhiko believes that as well, more than ever now that he’s currently standing in front of the hospital room’s door. And he wants to go in, wants to tell the Captain that Scepter 4 will be fine.  _You fool, this isn’t a mission_ , he hisses at himself. _Pull yourself together_. 

But it’s not that easy, and Saruhiko is aware that once he steps through the door, it will be the equivalent of bidding his Captain goodbye. And God forbid, but he’s not ready to do that yet.

 _I have to be_ , his heart answers for him at the same time that his head comes to that conclusion, and for once, Saruhiko agrees. He may not want to lose the Captain- and he knows none of Scepter 4 wants to, either- but the only thing worse than losing him is letting him die while thinking that no one cares. 

Saruhiko’s more than familiar with the feeling, and damned if he’s going to let anyone else feel the same.

So he squares his shoulders, pushes up his glasses, and takes a breath. Then he opens the door.

When he steps inside, the first thing he sees is the Captain, asleep like he always is whenever Saruhiko decides to drop by. He notes, with a sinking heart, that a breathing tube and an IV are the new additions to his King’s figure, and he has to close his eyes and calm the burning behind his eyes before he can sit down beside the bed.

”Fushimi-kun?”

 _Even while sick, this man has a sixth sense_. Saruhiko allows his gaze to meet the Blue King’s concerned one, and opens his mouth to say something. 

But he doesn’t know what he should say. _Damn you for sacrificing yourself? You’re supposed to be working? Why does it have to be you?_ All of them seem like viable options, and yet none of them are appropriate for the situation. So, instead of closing his mouth like an idiot, he settles for a “You look tired, sir.”

The Captain chuckles, although Saruhiko has no idea what’s funny about his statement. “You are right; I am quite tired. A side-effect of the medication, I suppose.”

”Maybe.” 

The conversation comes to a halt. Back in Scepter 4, despite his quiet character, the Captain was almost always the most talkative one in the room, whether it was for missions or simply trying to connect with his clansmen. The latter was usually quite intimidated by his efforts, although Saruhiko is sure if he could ask them about it now, that they would say they couldn't function without the Captain’s incessant chatter. It’s a sharp contrast to the situation now, and Saruhiko realizes how much he misses it, and a small shred of guilt tugs at his chest for always clicking his tongue and walking away from it. “Scepter 4 isn’t the same without you, Captain. Get better already.”

He does feel a little remorseful for speaking to the Captain like that, but it’s easier than admitting what everyone else knows is true. But the Captain doesn’t seem to mind. “I know, Fushimi-kun. However, I... it pains me to tell you that my chances of recovering are slim. I only have a week left, at the most.”

Saruhiko’s heart clenches so hard that it leaves his head reeling and his lungs burning for oxygen. A week. The King has a week left. That’s not... that’s not fair. It’s too soon. He needs more time, _Saruhiko_  himself needs more time. He’s not supposed to leave yet, _dammit_ , he _can’t_ leave yet...

Something bumps against his knee; it’s the Captain’s leg. Saruhiko looks up and locks eyes with the Captain; was he just thinking out loud? He must have been, because the Captain is looking at him like he knows the thoughts running through his head. “Fushimi-kun,” he says, and his voice is the gentlest that Saruhiko’s ever heard it. “You have to let me go.”

The wall that Saruhiko’s trying so hard to build back up crumbles to dust, and his vision almost instantly blurs. The fire that he thinks had vanished the moment he left HOMRA returns at full force, exploding in his gut, and his hands find his face. It’s warm, it’s wet, and Saruhiko’s dimly surprised he still has enough tears to shed, considering the sheer amount he did in the past two weeks. He can feel his chest heaving; that must be what’s going on, because his chest is tightening with an ache that’s so painful, it spreads out all over his body. His head hurts, and he registers somewhere in the back of his mind that it’s because his hands are fisting into his hair for any semblance of control he might grasp at the moment. He can’t think too much right now, because there’s only one thing that’s going through his head right now, and that’s the response to his King’s statement: _I can’t_.

“I can’t,” he says aloud, and it’s probably incoherent enough that the Captain needs to strain to understand what he’s saying. He angrily dashes the back of his hand across his eyes, trying to collect the shreds of his composure. “Damn you, Captain,” and the ache in his chest is only intensified by the rage he feels now. “Damn you for leaving like this!”

The Captain’s regarding him with such a helpless look in his eyes, that Saruhiko can’t hold the gaze for more than two seconds before he has to look back down. He knows the Captain is too weak to be moving around too much, but he doesn’t doubt that the man would be placing a hand on his shoulder right now if he could. 

“Forgive me.” 

Saruhiko has to dry his eyes, less violently this time, before he reaches for the sleeve hem of his Captain’s hospital gown and just hangs onto it. “What the hell is there to forgive, Captain?”

He can feel the Captain staring at him with that look, the one he always gives whenever there’s a mission accomplished. “I have no clue. I’m just making sure.”

Saruhiko really doesn’t want to click his tongue right now, but he does so anyway, if only to get the conversation back to a warped state of normal. “Tch. So annoying.”

There’s a huff of amusement from the Captain. Suddenly his sleeve jerks in Saruhiko’s grip, and he looks to up to find pain contorting the man’s features. “Sir?!”

As quickly as it comes, it passes, and the Captain sags back down on the pillow. “I’m alright,” he says in response to Saruhiko’s momentary panic. “These have been happening since last weekend.”

Saruhiko wants to point out that there is nothing about this that is alright. Instead, he just nods (and his fingers cling on a little tighter to the Captain’s sleeve). “The Lieutenant and I spoke. We agreed to remain with Scepter 4 after... afterwards.”

“That’s comforting,” the Captain replies, “and I can hope for nothing else. However, I would wish that none of you stay with Scepter 4 out of guilt or obligation; if you should feel that Scepter 4 is no longer the choice for you after my passing, I hope you will find a place that is better for you.”

”... Annoying,” Saruhiko mutters, because how else can he respond? “We’re staying, Captain.”

The other man can’t respond right away, because another spasm of pain is forcing him to stiffen. When it passes, the Captain turns his weary but clear eyes onto Saruhiko. “Fushimi-kun...”

”Sir?”

”Thank you for being a son to me.”

Tears well up anew in Saruhiko’s eyes, but he forces them down because he personally thinks he’s done enough crying for the day, and also because he just knows neither of them will be able to hold onto their control much longer if he breaks down again. “... It was my pleasure.”

The Captain smiles and closes his eyes, probably falling back asleep if the heart monitor is anything to go by. Saruhiko lets himself hold onto his sleeve for a little longer before he hesitantly shifts it to the Captain’s hand. He squeezes it lightly, once, just to assure himself that the Captain’s warmth is still there. ”Have a safe trip,” he whispers. He doesn’t know much about blessing people who are at the door of the afterlife, if there is one, but this is probably enough.

Then he releases the Captain’s hand and walks out. He doesn’t look back, not even when he closes the door; if he does, he’ll break down again, and not even biting his lip will stop it. So he keeps walking, keeps shoving down the bleeding ache in his chest even thought tears are already blurring his vision, keeps heading towards the door because he has a job to do, and he’s going to do it for his Captain, the man who was a better father than _he_ could ever dream of being.

And as he walks out, the first tear slides down his face, and he lets his King go.

 

 

 

Mikoto walks in, and finds Munakata staring out the window. The man’s eyes are clouded over in thought, and his lips are pressed into a line that means there’s an issue weighing heavily on his mind. So Mikoto doesn’t do anything except sit in the chair and just look at him- if Munakata wants to talk, he’ll talk. 

Sure enough, about five seconds later, Munakata turns to him, not even surprised to find him there. “Fushimi-kun visited me today.”

Mikoto can’t really say he’s surprised that it took the kid this long; with his past, it must have been hard to walk in here. “What’d he say?”

”He notified me that he and Awashima-kun are planning to stay with Scepter 4 after I pass.” There’s a look in Munakata’s eyes that tells Mikoto there’s something else that happened that he’s not going to share. “I’m leaving so much behind, Suoh.”

His words are bordering on guilty concern. This is probably the third time in Mikoto’s life that he’s seen Munakata look so distressed about something. “It can’t be helped, Munakata.”

”I’m aware, but...” Munakata pressed his lips together and looks back out the window, “it’s difficult. I keep wondering if the people I leave behind will be alright.”

” ‘Course they’re not going to be okay at first. It’s hard getting over someone you love dying.” Mikoto knows this part all too well: it happened with Tatara. Now it’s Munakata he’s going to be losing. “But they’ll move on eventually and they’ll remember  you, ‘cause they knew you. You’re a good man, Munakata; they will be fine.”

Munakata still doesn’t look convinced, but he nods. A small part of Mikoto’s heart disintegrates then because Munakata is supposed to fight back. He’s supposed to argue back and say that _Suoh, you don’t know Scepter 4 like I do, they will_ not _be fine_. He’s supposed to say, _Don’t make assumptions about people you don’t know_. He’s not supposed to give up this easily. “Why are you thinking about this now?”

”... I... I have a week left.”

Mikoto suspects that the only reasons this room isn’t being consumed by his aura right now are because Munakata is sick, he’s in the bed, and he’s looking at him with something similar to regret, because otherwise, the room would be in flames, and they both know it; his power is surging through his veins right now, fueled by the anguish that’s squeezing his heart to the point of insanity. He takes a breath, pictures himself blowing it out through a cigarette, and takes Munakata’s hand, to comfort the man as much as it is to ground himself. “Damn... I don’t know what to tell you.”

”Just tell me you’ll stay with me. Because I am terrified right now, Suoh.”

And because Mikoto is quite possibly the most unromantic person on earth, he ignores the implications of that sentence and says, “What made you think I wasn’t going to? Your face isn’t so unappealing that I’m not gonna stay with you when you need me.”

But Munakata doesn’t react in any way that Mikoto can see to the wording of what he just said. The only indication that he’s heard it is the subtle way his eyes soften, and even that makes Mikoto suspect that he’s heard what Mikoto was actually saying. “Thank you.”

Mikoto encloses Munakata’s hand in both of his own and brings it up to his lips, pressing small kisses to it so he knows Munakata understands. “You don’t have to thank me, you know. M’doing this because I care.” _Because I love you_. 

“I know.” 

 

 

It’s night, and Mikoto’s asleep. 

Munakata notes with a small smile that their hands are still entwined, although it probably makes for a very weird sleeping position on Mikoto’s part because the Red King’s arms are folded beneath his head. If he had the strength, he could probably readjust the position so that Mikoto’s arm doesn’t look like it’s twisting to still be able to hold hands with him. But he can’t, so he lays back on his pillow, watches Mikoto sleep, and breathes. 

There’s no clock in the hospital room, but Munakata estimates that it’s about two hours before midnight. Strange, because the moonlight’s enough to wash the cityscape silver, which makes it seem like a whole other kind of day. He can picture the beeping of the heart monitor as a chirping bird as it swoops through the silver-lit city with a grace that only comes at night, finding its way home before everything was repainted gold. 

Munakata’s thoughts fly apart as another spasm, much more violent that previous two he had in the day, wracks up his spine, and white-hot pain surges through his veins at the speed of light. His hand twitches in Mikoto’s grip, and he desperately hopes he doesn’t wake the other man as he holds his breath and exhales it to keep quiet. 

As soon as it’s over, Munakata gathers up the threads of his thoughts and pieces together the facts. 

The first one: it’s night, and he’s exhausted.

The second one: he feels incredibly sluggish, more so than usual. It must be the medication that the nurse increased when she came here to check up on him earlier in the day.

The last one: it’s getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open.

He knows what’s happening, has known it from when he’d accidentally pressed the _Call_  button and his doctor walked in during one of his spasms. It’s not something he wants to accept, but it’s a responsibility he’ll carry to the grave, if only for the sake of the people he loves.

The darkness unfurls in Munakata’s head, beckoning with the same thrum he feels when he taps into his aura. _Not yet_ , Munakata insists. _There’s something I have to do first_.

A ripple of pain nearly overwhelm him as he summons the last bit of energy he has to squeeze Mikoto’s hand, and he closes his eyes. The faces of his clansmen race through his mind, but he settles on Fushimi, Awashima, and Zenjō.

Fushimi’s voice rings through his head, and his third sounds vaguely accusing and more on the verge of tears as he yells, _I thought you had a week!_ Munakata smiles sadly, eyes still closed, because he can see the young man waiting by the open door of his office, slumped against the wall and just waiting for him to return. _Forgive me, Fushimi-kun. It looks like I’ll be leaving you a little bit earlier than planned_. _You’ve become a good man; you’ve made me so proud_.

Awashima’s eyes flash across his vision, briefly, and he makes sure she can see him smile. _Thank you for all you’ve done, Awashima-kun, and more. Please, take care of yourself and the next King in my absence._ Another spasm disturbs his smile for a second, and he forces it down as he struggles to smile again.  _I’ll be going now_. 

Zenjō’s frown is what he pictures next; he can already see the man standing at the gates, phone on alert, waiting for him to come back. _Zenjō-san, I’m afraid it’s going to be a while before we meet again. Thank you for your service_.

Munakata’s cold. The window is open a little, and although he understands that he’s only wearing a hospital gown and under the covers, it’s unusual for him to get cold so easily. The darkness is warm, but he’s still not done.

With an effect, he opens his eyes to see Mikoto’s sleeping figure. Tears blur his eyes as he squeezes the man’s hand one more time, though he knows he won’t feel it. _I have to go now, Suoh. Take care of yourself._

Mikoto doesn’t stir; he’s always been a deep sleeper. Munakata’s work here is done, and yet he still feels as if it’s not enough. So he calls on the dredges of his aura, which dull his pain enough for him to sit up, lean down, and press a kiss into Mikoto’s hair, the tears spilling over his eyes.  _Suoh Mikoto, I love you. I love you so much. Please don’t forget that_.

He’s cold. He should have asked Mikoto to close the window.

He’s tired. He should have gone to sleep ages ago.

Munakata leans back on the pillow, the pain overwhelming his body dissolving into warm and safe darkness. _I love you, Suoh,_ he says in his head as his eyes slide closed, repeating it over and over again like it’s his saving grace. _I love you. I love you. I love you._

_I love you..._

 

 

_I love..._

 

 

 

_I..._

 

Munakata’s time is nearly up, he can feel it. So he pictures Mikoto’s face in his head as his consciousness slips away, with one more thought on his mind. _I’ll see you tomorrow_.

Somewhere in the sky, a sword of Damocles dissolves in a swirl of blue light.


	7. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Munakata dies on a Thursday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, guys! We’re at the end! I feel really sad for leaving this story, because it’s been heartbreaking and fun to write. For everyone who read to the end, thank you nad I hoped you enjoyed it!
> 
>  
> 
> Title is from This Promise, by Sam Tsui and Casey Breves.

Mikoto wakes up to the feeling that something is very, _very_ wrong.

He blinks blearily and raises his free hand to rub the sleep from his eyes, noting with pleasant surprise that his hand has been entwined with Munakata’s for the whole night. He’s also kind of surprised that he hasn’t been kicked out yet, seeing as visiting hours were pretty much over when he had fallen asleep right here, by Munakata’s bedside. Everything looks fine, so why does his heart feel like it’s dropping into the depths of the ocean?

It’s probably nothing, because Munakata’s still asleep, so he shakes the feeling off and squeezes the other man’s hand. It’s kind of amusing that the Blue King’s still asleep; Munakata seems like the kind of person who’d be up by the crack of dawn. “Morning, Munakata.”

No response.

The dread that’s been clinging to Mikoto’s heart for the remainder of the night before he awoke begins to tug again, and he shoves it down again in order to tap Munakata’s nose. “Oi, I know you need your beauty sleep, but you’ve been asleep since five yesterday. Time to wake up.”

Still no response.

Fear wraps around Mikoto’s heart in tendrils and squeezes, as Mikoto realizes for the first time that Munakata’s hands now feels like ice. _No, no, no_.

Mikoto lets go of the man’s hand and leans over him, pressing his fingertips to the inside of Munakata’s wrist, to his neck, anywhere he might feel a pulse, and his breath comes heavier and faster as he tries to simultaneously quell the rising panic churning in his gut. “This isn't funny anymore, Munakata. Wake up.”

His eyes are searching Munakata’s face, looking for a flutter of eyelashes or a movement of his lips that indicates he’s breathing. Munakata does nothing. “Talk to me. Move. Do something, Reisi, _dammit_!”

His panic’s blown into near-hysterical alarm now, and Mikoto grabs Munakata’s hand and presses it to his face, feeling for the warmth he _knew_ was there when he fell asleep last night. There’s a small part of him tells him that it’s hopeless, that it’s all over, and he persists because he can’t do anything else and _damnit, this is not happening. This is_ not _happening_. “Come on, come on, come _on_. You have a _week._ You’re supposed to have a week, it’s only been a _day_! Don’t do this to me, Munakata. Talk to me, I’m _begging you_!”

Munakata does no such thing; he doesn’t react to Mikoto’s pleas, his touches, even his insults. His eyes stay closed, enclosing its owner in an eternal rest, and one he has no chance of waking from. His hands stay cold, as if to say, _It’s over. It’s finished._  Mikoto’s head settles in a numbing kind of peace, as he watches himself frantically search for a pulse, as if he’s not really believing that Munakata is...  as if there’s still a chance that Munakata is only playing him with the most heart wrenching card he has. 

Then the heart monitor flatlines.

Mikoto’s somehow both detached and desperate; a bitter wind settles his thoughts on a blanket of ice, while his hands cradle Munakata’s face with the intensity that being the Red King entails. He’s both in his body and out of it; all he does is stare as doctors and nurses have to drag him away from Munakata. For some reason, the only thing he can think about is Anna, and he dimly wonders how she’d react if she’s here, what she’d say as she witnesses Mikoto being pulled away from the Blue King while roaring his name. 

Would she say Munakata’s at peace now? Or would she note the hysterical inferno that his aura’s become? Would she wish Munakata farewell with the innocent understanding only a child can have? Or would she say nothing, and merely hold onto Mikoto’s hand in whatever comfort she could give him?

Mikoto doesn’t know- all are viable options- but he swears he hears her voice as he watches himself collapse outside the door of Munakata’s hospital room. _Reisi’s going to be okay now_. 

 _It’s not fair._ He tries to keep his despair in check, he really does, but he can literally feel his aura seeping into the cracks of his heart, and that only makes it hurt more. Great, now he’s yelling at a child that’s not even here. _I was the one who was supposed to die, not him! Never him!_

_King... Munakata-san’s with me now. He’s okay._

Mikoto opens his eyes, and honest-to-God _Tatara_ is kneeling in front of him, reaching out a hand and wearing that same smile that once upon a time didn’t make Mikoto’s heart burn at the memory. _He’s okay, I promise_. 

Mikoto doesn’t know when the floor started shaking, nor when everything became so bright as to induce tears in his eyes, but he clenches his hands to stop the tremors that have been vibrating through them and to ground himself in the fire coursing through his veins. “Totsuka,” he says, his voice getting shakier and angrier by the second, “tell Munakata that he can... he can...” God, why is it so hard for him to get the words out? “Hell, _Reisi_ , I’m supposed to be the one dead, not you! You can stick your ‘order’ because if this is what it comes to, then order is damn _useless_! Damn you for doing this to yourself; you said you had a week! You said you had a _week_!”

And Mikoto doesn’t cry, he _doesn’t_ , but he can feel warmth sliding down his face and guttural yells tearing themselves from his throat of their own free will. The furious inferno in his chest is replaced by a fire of a different kind, the one that’s born from going through the five stages of grief in the span of a few minutes from the sheer hopelessness of the situation. “... I hate you, Munakata. I _really hate you_.”

Something warm covers his knee; it’s Tatara’s hand. His third is shaking his head, his eyes protesting Mikoto’s statement like he knows better even though he’s dead and probably not supposed to be here. “ _No, King. You love him._ ”

The ache in Mikoto’s chest returns tenfold as he realizes that yes, he does. He loves the man behind the mask of the Blue King- the man that likes to watch the stars, the man that has an unhealthy obsession with puzzles and tea, the man who wasn’t afraid to sacrifice himself for someone else he held dear in his heart. He loves _Munakata Reisi,_ in every aspect of the word, in every detail of the man, in every way that he had thought was impossible after the path of Kings and clans took Tatara away from him. 

 _Munakata_ , he thinks desperately, heart bursting with emotions ranging from despair to _love_ as he buries his face in his knees and _cries_  for the first time in years.

And he hears from behind the door...

”Munakata Reisi. Time of death: 8:25 AM.”

 

 

 

Misaki is the first to pick up the call, since he’s already sitting at HOMRA’s bar and staring at his watch. He’s the first that hears, and his eyes go wide at the same time that his mouth drops open. His heart might have shattered, for all he cares, because _oh my god, how am I going to tell him_?

The call ends, and Misaki shuts off his watch. He’s still staring at it when Saruhiko walks in, a glass of water in each hand. “Misaki?”

Misaki raises his head, meets Saruhiko’s gaze that is both curious and concerned. He opens his mouth, closes it. He doesn’t know what to say. What words of comfort can he offer as he struggles to speak, as he watches Saruhiko’s face settle into impassiveness as he realizes? What can he do to make this bearable as he continues to stare, not moving from his seat even when Saruhiko suddenly whirls around and throws the glasses at the wall with a scream that masks the sound of shattering glass? What else is there to do, as Saruhiko drops to his knees and tries to pick up bits of broken glass even with his shaking hands? 

Misaki does what he’s always done: he drops on the floor next to Saruhiko and tugs his hands away from the broken glass. “Saruhiko-”

”No, no, Misaki, let me- I have to... I have to clean it up...” Saruhiko’s words tumble out faster than Misaki can understand them as the taller pulls his hands away and continues trying to scrape up a pile of glass. “God, there’s... there’s so much glass, it’s _everywhere_ -”

”Saru, stop, you’re going to hurt yourself!”

“What the hell does _that_ matter?!” Saruhiko shouts, like it’s going to have any effect on Misaki. Almost immediately, he quiets and continues to reach for glass. “Sorry, Misaki, I’m so sorry...”

For a moment, the sight of red on Saruhiko’s hands makes Misaki freeze, and then he’s tugging at Saruhiko’s hands, away from the glass, away from the floor. He has to sit on Saruhiko’s lap to actually get him to look at something other than the glass, and he places his hands on Saruhiko’s face. “Saruhiko.” It’s not a snap, but it might as well be one with how quickly Saruhiko looks up to meet his eyes. “Let it go.”

Saruhiko’s eyes cloud over with more than just pain, but he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t make a noise as he lets his head drop onto Misaki’s shoulder and just rest there.

It’s not until Misaki’s running his hands under water at the sink, washing out his blood, that he hears the first hiss. He looks at  Saruhiko, and finds his features twisted in grief, his eyes filling with tears that are from more than just the pain of bleeding hands. “Why, Misaki...?” His voice is so raw, it sends Misaki’s heart breaking for the umpteenth time this month. “Why did he have to leave?”

 _I don’t know_. “I don’t know, Saru,” he says truthfully as he shuts off the tap and begins to bandage Saruhiko’s hands. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t know how either of them manage to hold on until after he’s done bandaging Saruhiko’s hands, but as soon as he’s done, Saruhiko bows his head and lets out a sob that’s more a roar of anguish than anything else.

Then, for some unexplainable reason, Misaki’s own eyes start tearing up, and he’s suddenly kneeling with Saruhiko, on HOMRA’s floor, crying his heart out for a King he knows next to nothing about.

 

 

 

Kusanagi gets the next call, and he doesn’t have enough time to wonder whether or not it’s one he’ll regret picking up before he actually does. He holds the phone to his ear. “Mikoto?”

The next two words that follow freeze him to the core, and the towel he’s holding drops onto the floor.

Seri’s on the couch, and she’s looking at him with a mixture of dread and anticipation that makes him want to keep it from her, to protect her from the news that will surely shatter her. He hangs up the phone, but he can’t find it in himself to say anything other than “Seri-chan...”

The sound of glass shattering downstairs comes at the same time that Seri presses a hand to her mouth, tears overflowing from her eyes as she starts shaking with sobs that wrack her entire body. But for once, Kusanagi’s not thinking about the glass, or even the bar. 

As Seri keels over and sobs escape her control, he walks to her, sits by her, and places his arms around her. Immediately she fights, her hands forming fists as she simultaneously tries to push him away and get up to presumably run to the hospital. Kusanagi lets her try, but he’s not letting go, not when she’s in this much pain, not when she needs something other than running herself ragged for his superior who’s... who’s already gone.

So he just holds her, not letting go even when she punches him in the gut while protesting in a series of screams that she needs to go, that she needs to see him _now_. He holds her when her grief completely overtakes her, when she stops fighting and buries her face into his chest and just _cries_. He holds her because he knows what it’s like to lose someone you care about, as well as losing someone who didn’t deserve it at all. He brings one arm from around her waist to cradle her head, pressing his cheek against her head. “I’m so sorry, Seri-chan.”

 _Blue King... you left too soon_.

 

 

Kuroh’s walking home with a bag of groceries when he feels it, the sharp tug in his gut that tells him a King has fallen. 

He drops the groceries; his knees are the next to hit the ground as his heart seizes with grief that is both his and not his own. He was by no means close to the Blue King in any way, but he was a good man. A great man. Someone who understood the true meaning of what it means to be a King the moment he traded his Damocles for Suoh Mikoto’s, and Kuroh respects that as much as he does his own King and Master Ichigen. 

He looks up at the sky, and if he looks hard enough, he can see some lingering blue sparks swirling in the air before fizzing out entirely, and he bows his head. 

 _Fourth Blue King Munakata Reisi, you did well. I swear to uphold the promise I made while you were still with us, and to honor it until the end of my days.... Rest now_.

 

 

Daikaku Kokujōji can feel it, the moment when Munakata passes. He knows because his aura suddenly feels incomplete, and it surges inside of him looking for the lost part of his aura. 

All he can think about is the Red King, and he wonders how he is coping, or if he is at all. Daikaku wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t; all seven Kings are basically broken from the same mold, and that’s how he had dealt with Weismann’s death.

Amid his grief for a young leader passing, he walks to the glass coffin that’s been under his watchful eye for the time being, and looks inside. He stares at the face of his friend, at once so familiar and so foreign in his sleep. Wistfulness tightens his chest as he remembers Dresden, this man, and his sister. It’s a feeling that gets him every so often, but never this intense.

”Now would be a good time to wake up, Weismann,” he reprimands the sleeping man without any heat in his voice. “Don’t you think so?”

Weismann doesn’t move, but Daikaku swears he hears a voice that sounds just like him, saying, _Soon, my friend. Soon_.

 

 

 

The funeral’s held only a week later, by the ocean that’s a half-hour drive from Scepter 4. 

Mikoto wouldn’t have come, if he had his way, but Kusanagi and Yata aren’t letting him _not_  come. Not to mention that although his mind had rebelled at the sight of seeing Munakata dead again, his heart had jumped, practically vibrating at the thought of seeing the man he loves again. 

So he had come, ditching his usual attire for once in place of a black suit. There’s a pack of cigarettes in his pocket, just in case, and he thinks he can hear Munakata sighing from heaven, or wherever he is right now. _Suoh, can’t you restrain yourself for once? It is my funeral, you know_.

 _Nah_. That’s all he can manage before he needs to cough; the conversation is too one-sided for him to bear it, and he’s not planning to cry until the service is over, at least.

The rest of Scepter 4’s already there when the various members of HOMRA arrive, but, to Mikoto, they don’t seem particularly surprised to see them there. That said, they don’t look exactly happy either, but most of their attention is fixed on the boat that’s tied to shore.

Mikoto doesn’t know if this is intentional or not, but he’s seated where he can see inside the boat, clearly, and against his better judgement, he looks in.

Munakata’s dressed in his uniform- suitable, Mikoto thinks, because that man might be his lover, but he’ll always remain a part of Scepter 4, even in death. The flowers surrounding him brings the blue almost to life- there’s sweet peas and bluebells, but those are only small splashes in the sea of frost that the white chrysanthemums bring. Munakata’s hair is spread out over the flowers, like how he was on the hospital bed. His hands are folded on his chest, over his saber- it’s a gesture of devotion as much as it is one of reverence. Behind his glasses, his eyes are closed, and Mikoto can’t help but think he’s asleep, even though it’s actually another kind of sleep he’s experiencing now.

When Mikoto looks at him, all he can see is that night in the park- just the two of them, surrounding by the grass, the fireflies, and the stars. Just the two of them trading kisses on the single night that both of them must have fallen deeper in love than they already had. It brings a nostalgic ache back to Mikoto’s heart, and he looks away before Kusanagi can call him out on it.

Fushimi is the one who reads the eulogy; no surprise there. He can tell it’s difficult; Fushimi’s doing a pretty good job of holding himself together so far, but halfway through, his voice betrays the slightest quaver, and he has to clear his throat before moving on. Nobody comments that every once in a while, Fushimi’s hand comes up to rub at his eyes. 

Awashima’s the next one up, and it’s the first time her hair’s done while wearing her uniform. She raises her saber, voice steady despite the pain so clear in every movement, and she leads Scepter 4 in the chant that Mikoto’s forgotten they do. 

 _We will advance with sword in hand, for our cause is pure_.

It’s one last hurrah, one last moment to reach to their leader who’s on the shores of eternal bliss. It’s their version of _No blood, no bone, no ash_. It’s their way of saying goodbye to a man who was their friend as much as he was their King.

As they push the boat away from shore, Fushimi steps forward. He takes a breath, meets the eyes of his clan mates as they all nod in silent agreement. Then he produces a knife from the folds of his uniform and allows it to blaze- with the red aura, Mikoto’s surprised to find- before he throws it at the boat that’s already about a mile away.

It embeds itself into the wood of the boat, which catches flame and eats up the wood faster than should be possible for a boat in the water.

It doesn’t take long for the boat to be consumed by flame, and everyone watches as blue lights not unlike stars float out of the boat and swirl around it before speeding for the sky.

The rest of Scepter 4 has drawn their sabers out, and are pointing it towards the sky, repeating their chant with voices strained by tears.

Fushimi falls to his knees, right there on the shore, and Yata’s with him, holding hands because they are both stronger together.

Awashima turns her face into Kusanagi’s shoulder, but it only lasts a second before she’s looking at the sky for one last glimpse of her Captain.

As for Mikoto himself, he thinks about the red camellias he privately burned before coming. He looks to the sky and easily sees Munakata’s face there. The man has the gall to smile during his own funeral, and Mikoto feels his lips quirk up in response. _I love you, Munakata Reisi. Wait for me; I’ll see you again someday_.

In the light of the sunset, he swears he sees Munakata nod.

 

 

 

When Fushimi awakens as the Blue King two weeks later, Mikoto can’t find it in himself to be surprised.

He’d been sitting with Anna on the couch, watching Yata absently comb his fingers through Fushimi’s hair. It’s a little amusing how much time Fushimi’s been spending here, although it’s understandable.

From what Awashima says, Scepter 4’s still recognized as a special police force, but they’ve had nothing to do lately because the crime level has surprisingly gone down in the wake of Munakata’s death. That’s plenty of time for them to grieve, she says, and some of them have been doing it too much. It’s apparently not uncommon for either her or Fushimi to return to headquarters to find at least one member either in tears or staring at the door like Munakata would walk right back in any moment. 

Mikoto personally doesn’t blame them; he’s been having dreams, which usually end up with him bolting up in the middle of the night, Munakata’s name falling from his lips, and staring at the door like he’d walk in any minute. He sighs and lights a cigarette, when Anna’s tugging at his arm.

Her eyes are round, and also the brightest he’s seen them since this whole thing started. “What is it?”

”Saruhiko.” Fushimi turns, his head still on Yata’s lap, to look at her with a mildly annoyed expression, but she doesn’t stop. “Saruhiko,” she repeats. “Saruhiko.”

Mikoto has about a second to think _What?_  before Yata’s surprised yelp rings throughout the room. Fushimi has somehow stood up, and he’s frozen in place as his hair and clothes begin to move with an inexplicable wind. He’s staring at the ground, and Mikoto now sees it’s because there’s blue light glowing from where Fushimi is standing, swirling around his feet and surrounding him until his entire body is humming with a blue aura.

Kusanagi’s stopped wiping, Awashima has stopped talking, and they’re both gaping at Fushimi like everyone else is. Yata’s on the ground, mouth dropped open because _holy shit, he has never expected this to happen in his life!_  Mikoto’s just struck dumb, but he can’t deny the pride that swells in him because now it’s undeniable that Munakata’s successor has always been Fushimi, the one who could never completely turn his back on the world even when it kept giving him reasons to.

Fushimi himself seems in shock, and Mikoto sees his eyes turn towards Yata. “Misaki...”

”You’re the Blue King now,” Yata says breathlessly, and then he’s laughing as he runs towards Fushimi to embrace him. “Holy shit, Saru, you’re the _Blue King_  now! This is awesome!”

Fushimi hugs him back just as tightly, but apparently the ability to form coherent words hasn’t quite returned to him yet as he looks around at the other people in the room. “I... what... this... the Slates...”

Kusanagi’s the first one to help him, coming around the counter and nodding at him. “Fushimi- no, _Blue King_ , welcome.”

Awashima is the next, and she walks right up to him, never mind that Yata’s already there. She exchanges glances with him for a whole three seconds before she goes down on one knee and bows to him. “May I remain in your service, Captain?”

Mikoto thinks it’s kind of laughable how fast Fushimi goes from uncomfortable to annoyed, and he clicks his tongue. “First, Lieutenant,” he says, “no one can make you leave unless you want to. Second, don’t call me Captain. That’s weird.”

Awashima huffs as she rises to her feet, but she’s fighting back a smile. “You might be the Blue King now, but I reserve the right to smack you for impudence.”

Fushimi rolls his eyes, the effect lessened because Yata’s snorting in laughter, and his eyes meet Mikoto’s. He falters for a second. “Mikoto-san.”

Mikoto stands and walks until he’s two feet away from Fushimi. Slowly he puts a hand on his shoulder; he doesn’t flinch this time. “Being a King can be hard sometimes, kid. Whatever you need, I’ll help you.” He pauses for a second, then pats Fushimi on the head. “You make him proud.”

Fushimi’s eyes widen for a second, and Mikoto slightly wonders if he said something wrong. Then there’s a hesitant smile forming, the first one he’s ever gotten from Fushimi, and in the next instant, Yata’s tackling Fushimi to the ground and kissing him breathless because _my boyfriend’s the Blue King now, suckers!_

Mikoto turns to his side, and it’s not Anna he sees, but Munakata, with Tatara. Tatara is the first to wave and the first to open his mouth in shock before he’s laughing and congratulating Fushimi even though the latter can’t hear him.

Munakata looks at his junior, and his face softens as he sees Fushimi empowered and happy. He looks back to Mikoto and smiles- really smiles.

And Mikoto thinks, _Of all the new beginnings we could have, this one isn’t so bad_.

 

 

 

_Cause I swear_

_That when “forever” fades into a memory,_

_Nothing will ever take, take you away from me_

_This promise of mine_

_is a promise in time_

_And as we’re looking back_

_on who we used to be,_

_With everything I am,_

_I swear you’ll always see_

_This promise of mine_

_is a promise in time_.


End file.
